


Alone

by Attenia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Out of Character Legolas Greenleaf, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attenia/pseuds/Attenia
Summary: Legolas goes to visit the site of his mother's death, and is brutally attacked, bringing back old memories. Aragorn tries to help his friend, but Legolas won't let the wounds heal, and confesses he doesn't trust himself to be alone. OOC Legolas. Trigger warnings for self-harm and suicidal thoughts.





	Alone

“This is a bad idea, mellon nin. We should go back.”  
“You can go back if you want, Estel. I need to do this.”  
“I’m not leaving you to do this alone.”  
Legolas smiled his appreciation and continued to direct his horse through the forest. They’d left the path some time ago. Aragorn couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to go badly wrong. It had been exactly one hundred and ten years since Legolas’ mother had died. Today, for the first time, the prince wanted to go back to the place where it had happened on the anniversary of her death.  
Aragorn knew that Legolas had been there when she’d died, but his friend had never been able to tell him anything more than that; the details were still too painful.  
Aragorn knew they must have reached the place when Legolas dismounted from his horse and wandered slowly forward, as though in a dream. The man quickly did the same, leaving the horses by a passing stream and hurrying after the prince.  
Legolas was gazing at a bush, his shoulders tense.  
“Mellon nin?”  
“That’s where I was. She told me to hide, and not to come out, no matter what I heard. I was young, and I obeyed without question. If I hadn’t…”  
“If you hadn’t, you’d be dead,” Aragorn said firmly. “It’s not your fault, gwador. You couldn’t have done anything.”  
Legolas nodded, but Aragorn wasn’t sure whether the prince believed him. “They whipped her until her back was a bloody mess. Then they beat her. She couldn’t stand at that point, so they ended up kicking her. The force bashed her ribs in.”  
Aragorn put an arm around his friend, and Legolas leaned his head on the man’s shoulder. He would stay here with Legolas as long as the prince needed... but too soon, their time was cut short in the most unwelcome way.  
Legolas stiffened. “Orcs. Coming this way.”  
No, no, not today. At any other time, Legolas wouldn’t blink at having to defend himself from orcs, but today, when he was remembering how orcs brutally murdered his mother? This couldn’t have come at a worse time.  
“Let’s go to the horses. We can easily outrun them.”  
“No, we can’t. They’re on wargs, at least some of them. We stand and fight.”  
There really was no choice, if the orcs were indeed on wargs. “How many?”  
Legolas’ face was tight as he spoke. “Thirty, at least.”  
Thirty. That was too many, even for them. Aragorn berated himself harshly for not insisting that they let Thranduil send a guard detail with them on this trip.  
He and Legolas hurried back to the horses, whispering elvish words to them. As one, the two animals turned and ran. They would go back to the palace and get help. Aragorn only hoped that they could manage to avoid spiders on the way. To be safe, he and Legolas had sent them on different routes, so that hopefully at least one would make it.  
They had little more time to prepare before the orcs were upon them. Legolas sprung up into the trees and started shooting, while Aragorn pulled out his sword. He lost himself in the fight, killing an orc or warg with every thrust, but there were just too many.  
Legolas dropped to the ground, his knives in his hands. He must have run out of arrows. They fought back to back, but Aragorn knew that they couldn’t win this.  
It wasn’t how he’d wanted to die. It seemed so pointless – ambushed by orcs in Greenwood. Why? What purpose would this serve?  
Three orcs charged him at once, and a horrible clash sounded through the forest as Aragorn’s sword flew out of his hand. He fell and knocked his head hard on a protruding rock. Moments later, Legolas was disarmed, and he was tackled to the ground. Orcs seldom took captives, and Aragorn didn’t know whether he should be relieved or afraid that they weren’t being killed just yet.  
There were only five orcs and no wargs left, but his head was spinning wildly from the blow, and he could see that Legolas was covered in blood from a bleeding stomach wound.  
The orcs tied Aragorn’s hands behind his back and attached the rope to a tree. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as they held Legolas down. They stripped off his shirt and started whipping him, laughing at the elf’s cries of pain.  
“Leave him alone! Take me, hurt me!” His vision was still wavering, but Aragorn fought fiercely against his bonds. They couldn’t do this to Legolas, not today, not here. Of all the unfortunate coincidences, this was the worst one Aragorn could possibly have imagined. The orcs were torturing him in the exact same way his mother had been tortured; orcs had never been that creative when it came to giving pain and likely all did it the same way.  
How would Legolas ever recover from this? That was, if either of them made it out of here alive.  
Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out Legolas’ cries and focusing on loosening the ropes that tied him. The orcs were eager to inflict pain, and had tied the knots lazily. Still, they seemed to take forever to budge.  
Every second felt like a year. Legolas had gone quiet, but the orcs kept whipping him mercilessly. Finally, the ropes gave, and Aragorn’s wrists sprang free. His vision had stabilized; the world was no longer spinning. He lunged for his sword and started cutting into the orcs, just as they began kicking Legolas in the ribs.  
A few breathless minutes later, the orcs were dead. Aragorn tossed his sword aside and knelt beside his friend, wincing as what he saw. They hadn’t only whipped Legolas’ back, but his front as well. Whip marks went all down his arms, and across his chest and stomach.  
“You’ll be ok, mellon nin,” he murmured. Aragorn ran to his pack where he’d left it leaned against a nearby oak and came back with his healing supplies.  
Legolas wasn’t unconscious, but he was unresponsive, staring blankly at nothing as Aragorn worked on cleaning and stitching his wounds. He was glad of it for now; at least the prince couldn’t feel the pain of his injuries being treated.  
Two hours passed before he was done. Aragorn swallowed some herbs for the growing bump on his head, but he didn’t think it was too serious. He cleaned the blood off Legolas with water from the stream, and pulled the elf into his bedroll. Aragorn sat himself up against a tree, ready to spend the night watching over his friend.  
It seemed that the bump on his head was worse than he’d thought, because at some point, exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he drifted off. When Aragorn woke, he found that Legolas had regained consciousness.  
“Legolas! How long have you been awake?”  
“Not long,” Legolas mumbled. He wouldn’t meet the man’s eyes, and Aragorn’s stomach clenched in worry.  
“How… how are you feeling?’  
The prince shrugged, which only increased Aragorn’s worry. Legolas always insisted he was fine, even when he clearly wasn’t. If he wasn’t bothering to go through that charade, he must be hurt worse than Aragorn had thought, though he suspected the most painful wounds weren’t the physical ones.  
“Come, let me check your injuries.”  
Legolas didn’t protest, but lay back, his eyes focused on the canopy above him. Aragorn gasped at what he saw as he pulled the blanket back. The clean clothes he’d dressed Legolas in yesterday were soaked through with blood. What had happened? The bleeding had stopped last night, he’d made sure of that.  
He peeled the clothing back to find almost all of the stitches on Legolas’ arms torn open. Small scratches told him that the prince had done it with his finger nails.  
“Mellon nin?” He put a hand on Legolas’ cheek, forcing the prince to look at him. “What happened?”  
Legolas closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Estel.”  
“Tell me,” Aragorn urged.  
“I… I remembered them. Though it wasn’t always me – sometimes it was my mother. It hurt me, like it hasn’t hurt since the early days after her death. I couldn’t take it, gwador. The physical pain helped to distract me. It’s better than the alternative.”  
Aragorn could certainly understand that, because the pain in his heart at Legolas’ desolate expression was worse than any physical injury he’d ever received.  
“Alright, I understand. You’re going to have to leave the stitches alone from now on, though. They won’t heal, otherwise.”  
Legolas nodded, his face once more blank. Aragorn didn’t like it. Holding his feelings inside wasn’t going to help the prince, but right now, he had to see to his friend’s injuries. They could get infected if left open like this.  
“I can give you some herbs for the pain,” Aragorn offered when Legolas winced at the tug of the needle through his skin.  
“No herbs.”  
At least one thing hadn’t changed. Aragorn finished dressing the wounds and set about making breakfast. He wondered if Legolas would be strong enough to travel. He wanted the prince back with his father, sure that Thranduil would be able to soothe his son better than Aragorn would. After all, they’d both lost Legolas’ mother. The king would be able to understand Legolas’ grief in a way Aragorn couldn’t.  
Legolas ate without comment, one hand absently picking at his arm.  
“No, mellon nin.” Aragorn moved over and snatched the prince’s wrist, which had burrowed under the bandage. He quickly checked, and was relieved to find he had been fast enough to save the stitches. “You can’t do that, they’ll never heal that way.”  
“Sorry,” Legolas mumbled.  
“Talk to me,” Aragorn said desperately. “I can see you’re in pain, gwador. Let me help you.”  
“I’m fine.”  
He rolled his eyes. “Do you think you can walk? We should get back to the palace. We can’t be sure the horses made it, so there may not be anyone coming for us.”  
“I can walk.”  
It soon became apparent that Legolas couldn’t walk. After his third collapse in a dozen steps, Aragorn tried to carry him, but that caused such a ruckus that he feared Legolas was going to tear his stitches in his struggles. He never had been able to carry the prince when he was conscious; the elf’s stubborn pride wouldn’t allow that.  
Aragorn sighed and resigned himself to spending a few more days here, at least until Legolas was well enough to travel. He tried to talk to Legolas, to keep his spirits up if nothing else, but for the most part, the elf was unresponsive.  
Worse he kept worrying at his wounds. He’d scratch at them absently, only stopping when Aragorn captured his hands. Even more terrifying was when the prince intentionally gouged them deeply. When Aragorn went to get water, he was only gone for a few minutes, but on his return, Legolas had torn out all of his stitches again.  
“Gwador, you have to stop this!” Aragorn tried to meet Legolas’ eyes, but Legolas was staring at the blood with a strange expression on his face. “Please, you have to let yourself heal.” No response. Aragorn felt at his wit’s end. How was Legolas ever supposed to get better if he didn’t allow himself to?  
“You have to talk to me,” he pleaded as he re-stitched the wounds. “I know you’re hurting. Let me in. I can help.”  
Legolas didn’t respond. The blank look was back, a look Aragorn was swiftly coming to hate more than a look of pain.  
Two days passed in much the same manner. Legolas’ injuries were getting no better – in fact, they were getting worse, becoming red and enflamed from the constant re-opening of the wounds. Aragorn tried to watch him, but he had to sleep at some point. They desperately needed to get back to the palace, but Legolas was still too weak to move and too uncooperative to carry.  
Four days after the attack, Aragorn was shaken awake in the middle of the night. In the light of the fire, he could see that Legolas’ face was covered in tears.  
“Mellon nin?” Aragorn sat up at once and automatically pulled his friend into a hug, wincing at the wet feeling of blood. The prince had torn his stitches again.  
Legolas melted into the embrace, his entire body trembling. “Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered.  
“I am not going anywhere,” Aragorn assured him. “I will not leave you.”  
“No, Estel, you don’t understand. You can’t leave me alone for a second. Please. Don’t sleep. Don’t go and collect water. Don’t leave me alone.”  
“Alright, it’s ok, hush now, I won’t leave you.” He couldn’t fathom why Legolas didn’t even want him to sleep, but if that’s what his friend needed, then that’s what Aragorn would do until he dropped with exhaustion. “Can you tell me why?” he asked gently. “Is it to stop you tearing your stitches?”  
Legolas shook his head, his tears quickly wetting Aragorn’s tunic even further.  
“Then why, mellon nin?”  
The prince made no response other than to curl into Aragorn, crying desperately into his chest. Aragorn pulled the prince close, his alarm mounting by the moment. He’d wanted Legolas to stop hiding from his feelings over the recent attack, but he didn’t like the look of fear on his friend’s face. Grief, he’d expected, but fear? He didn’t understand.  
“Shh, I’m here, I’m with you,” he soothed, but Legolas was inconsolable. His breathing started to edge toward hyperventilation, and Aragorn held him tighter, frantic to comfort him somehow. “Just breathe slowly, gwador. You’re going to pass out if you keep doing that. Come on, now, try to follow my breaths. Nice and slow.”  
It wasn’t working, and Aragorn didn’t know what to do. “Tell me what’s wrong? Please, Legolas.”  
Legolas raised one shaky hand and pointed to his bedroll. Aragorn glanced over at it, but saw nothing unusual. He tried to get up to investigate, but Legolas clenched his arms tightly around him, shaking his head, his breathing so fast that Aragorn was sure the prince would pass out at any second.  
“Ok, I’m not leaving. I’m just going to lean over and grab your bedroll, alright?”  
He couldn’t tell if Legolas agreed or not, but the prince allowed him to lean to the side, stretching until his fingers caught the edge of the bedroll. He pulled it closer to find a rope nestled in the center. The rope was tied into a noose.  
Aragorn resisted the urge to start crying himself. He tossed the rope into the fire and turned back to Legolas. “You are not leaving me, you hear? I won’t allow it. I promise, you are safe with me, mellon nin. I won’t let you hurt yourself, I swear it to you.”  
Legolas’ panicked gasps started to slow as the rope burned, though he still wept a river of tears.  
“That’s right, let it out,” Aragorn murmured. “Keeping the pain in won’t help you.”  
He realized that Legolas was tearing at his wounds again, and grabbed his friend’s wrists. “I’m not letting you hurt yourself,” he repeated. “Tomorrow, I am giving you some herbs to put you to sleep, and then I am carrying you back to the palace. No, don’t give me that look, I’ve let this go on too long already. I know you hate taking herbs that make you sleep, but these, you will take if I have to hold you down and force them on you.”  
He knew his friend well enough to interpret the slight change in his crying that indicated relief – relief that this was being taken out of hands. Legolas wasn’t coping, and he clearly knew it.  
“I – I w-want – to – d-die,” the prince whispered, his nails digging into Aragorn’s shoulders, holding on for dear life.  
“I know, gwador, I know. I will not let you, though.”  
“H-hurts – too – m-much.”  
Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut, resting his cheek on top of Legolas’ head as the prince cried. “I know. I’m going to help you, mellon nin. I will be with you until the pain becomes bearable, and even after that.”  
Legolas brought his knees up, curling himself into a ball and resting his head on Aragorn’s shoulder as the man held him in a tight embrace. Though Legolas was thousands of years his senior, Aragorn had never seen the elf look as young as he did in this moment.  
“Don’t leave me,” Legolas mumbled, his grip on Aragorn’s tunic so tight that the prince’s knuckles were going white.  
“I won’t leave you, mellon nin.”  
“I know how she felt.” Legolas looked up at him with an anguished expression. “Her pain, her terror… I understand. I never wanted to understand, not in this way. She was all alone. There was no one to help her. All alone.”  
“I know, I know,” Aragorn murmured. “You are not alone, though, Legolas. I am here with you, and I will not leave.”  
Legolas nodded, his crying picking up again, leaving him unable to speak but for a few garbled syllables that were unintelligible.  
“This won’t be forever,” Aragorn promised. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but the pain will get less. You will want to live and be well again, gwador, you have my promise on that. I will not stop until it is so. I won’t let you walk through this alone.”  
Legolas cried in abject misery, the sound tearing at Aragorn’s heart. He rocked his friend, whispering soothing words in his ear. “You’re not alone. You will never be alone, mellon nin. I am here, whenever you need me.”  
Eventually, Legolas wore himself out and fell into a fitful sleep. Aragorn was exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t sleep yet. He’d promised Legolas he wouldn’t. When the sun rose, he tried to extract himself from the bedroll, but Legolas’ arms clenched around him, even in sleep.  
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, stroking the prince’s hair. “Just to the fire, to warm some water. I won’t let you out of my sight.”  
Perhaps his words penetrated somewhere in his friend’s subconscious, because Legolas allowed his arms to be gently pried away. Aragorn quickly heated water for tea. He didn’t want the prince to wake up properly, because then it would just be harder to convince him to take the herbs.  
He had a strong concoction ready soon, and hurried back to Legolas. He put his arm under the prince’s shoulders, lifting him slightly. “Here, drink this.”  
“Estel?” Legolas blinked, his hands moving vaguely as he searched for his friend.  
Aragorn took his hand and squeezed it. “I am here. Just drink this now mellon nin. Trust me, it’ll help.”  
To his great relief, Legolas cooperated, and soon, the prince was in a deep, restful sleep. Aragorn picked up his injured friend and started carrying him back toward the palace.  
It was a good thing that Thranduil’s search party found them that evening, because Aragorn was too exhausted to have continued much longer. With the horses, they were back in the palace in a matter of hours, and Legolas was taken to the healing ward.  
Of course, the king was there. “Thank you, Estel, for all you have done. You look terrible, you should get some sleep. I know you won’t leave me son; we can have a cot for you set up next to his bed.”  
“Thank you, hir nin, but I can’t sleep yet. I need to explain some things to you. Legolas can’t be left alone.”  
By the time he’d finished explaining everything that had happened, the king had gone so pale that Aragorn feared he might pass out.  
“Hir nin?”  
“My son –” Thranduil let out a choked sob.  
“He will get better,” Aragorn assured the distraught king. “Ada has seen patients who have wanted to die before. There are ways to help them, and Legolas is strong. He’ll get through this.”  
Thranduil got up suddenly. “Can you stay awake for a few more minutes, Estel? I’m going to write to Elrond. Once that’s done, I’ll come and watch over Legolas and let you get some sleep.”  
“Of course.” Writing to Ada was a good idea, one he probably should have thought of, but his brain was too addled with exhaustion to think properly. Thranduil returned quickly, and had a cot put up for Aragorn, which he gratefully fell into, asleep before his head hit the pillow.  
Aragorn was woken by the horribly familiar sound of Legolas’ distress. He leapt up to find the prince sobbing in his father’s arms. Thranduil was stroking his son’s hair and murmuring words too quiet for Aragorn to hear. The king shot him a helpless look, and Aragorn hurried over.  
Legolas readily allowed himself to be transferred into his friend’s embrace. “I – I c-can’t – Estel,” he choked, his body limp, his distraught eyes defeated.  
“It’s alright, mellon nin. You don’t have to do anything. Your Ada and I are going to take care of you. We won’t be leaving you alone for a moment until we’re entirely sure you’re better.”  
Legolas was sobbing too violently to speak, but he nodded, letting Aragorn pull his head so that it rested against the man’s shoulder. He held the prince until Legolas once more fell asleep, mentally and physically exhausted.  
Thranduil let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Estel. I feel so helpless, watching him like this. What am I supposed to do?”  
“Just be with him. That’s all we can do for now. We have to believe that it will be enough.”  
That believe was severely tested over the next few weeks. For a while, it seemed that Legolas would never get better. One week after their return to the palace, help arrived in the form of Elrond and the twins, help that was sorely needed.  
All of them were shocked at Legolas’ condition, but Elrond took it in his stride. He had seen similar things in his time, and knew how to treat Legolas, with a combination of herbs, a special routine, talking through his feelings, and support from his friends and family.  
As time passed, there were more days when Legolas didn’t try to tear at his skin or get near to passing out when his breathing got out of control. He confessed to Aragorn that he still thought of death with longing, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been at first.  
Weeks turned into months, and slowly, Aragorn’s best friend started to return. Legolas was still haunted by the experience, as he would be for a long time, but he was recovering.  
It was a year later that found the two friends arguing in Legolas’ chambers.  
“No.” Aragorn folded his arms. “I promised.”  
“That was a year ago, Estel! I release you from that oath.”  
“I’m not leaving you alone.”  
Legolas rolled his eyes. “Elrond has told you, it’s fine. I swear, if I need you, I will call out for you.”  
Aragorn just shook his head.  
“Estel, I’m only going to relieve myself! The bathroom is literally right there – you’ll be no more than ten feet from me. Do you need me to call the guards?”  
At the dangerous look in his friend’s eyes, Aragorn sighed in defeat. He knew that he had to leave Legolas alone at some point, but it was hard. Though the prince had recovered from the mental scarring, he still worried.  
“Hey.” Legolas stepped close, pulling him into a hug. “It’s alright. I’m alright; you know that.”  
“I know.” Aragorn returned the hug, resting his chin on Legolas’ shoulder. “Old habits are hard to break, I guess.”  
Reluctantly, he released his friend. “I’m giving you two minutes. If you’re not done by then, I’m coming in.”  
Legolas shook his head in exasperation, but he was smiling. He headed to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked open. “You know, you’ll have to go back to Imladris at some point. Your family is probably missing you.”  
“One and a half minutes, Legolas!”  
Aragorn heard his friend chuckle, and couldn’t help the smile that lighted his own face at the sound. He knew that he was just being overprotective. Legolas was ready… but that didn’t mean that Aragorn wouldn’t be by his side every step of the way.


End file.
